What Hunters Do on Their Day Off
by linseyloveandtea
Summary: Dean & Sam are bored at Bobby's with nothing to do, so they get creative. Very silly, bickering, brotherly oneshot. Season 5-ish. Rated T for mild language and alcohol use.


"Bobby, are you _sure _there's nothing for us to freakin' do?"

Bobby shot Dean a thoroughly pestered look while Sam rolled his eyes.

"Dean, for the last goddamn time, no. Wouldn't you think I'd want to tell you if something was going on?" He huffed and started to wheel out of the room. "Yeh have a night off. Try'n enjoy it, do something fun."

Dean grimaced a little. Fun? Fun was ripping baddies apart and screwing hot women. Bobby's place wasn't fun. Bobby's whole _town_ wasn't fun. His eyes roamed around the room lazily for something to do. He glanced over at Sam, who was sitting in a faded green chair quite calmly. Sam shrugged in a bored way, as if to say, _I got nothing._ Dean was sitting on the edge of the torn couch's armrest tapping his now empty beer bottle impatiently. _How does Sam friggin' _do_ that? _he wondered irritably.

"Well, what now?" Dean asked expectantly. Sam sighed.

"Well, uh… T.V.?"

"Television's busted!" Bobby hollered from the kitchen.

Dean threw his hands up, rolling his eyes.

"Now what?"

Sam pursed his lips, gave a little quirk of the head.

"Uh… board game?" he tried, a little desperately.

"Dude, what are you, twelve?" Dean half-laughed.

Sam gave him a deadpan look of annoyance.

"WHAT?" Dean sniggered. "Not like _Bobby _would have any lying around anyway. And we didn't even really do that shit when we were kids anyway.""Yeah, 'cause _someone _thought they were dumb, and would rather wrestle his younger brother for entertainment," Sam snapped.

"Haha yeah," Dean chuckled mischievously, "and I kicked your little ass, didn't I?"

Sam scoffed. "Dean, you were a _little _older than me."

Dean nodded. "And now you're a little younger than me. So, whaddya say?" he stood up, flexing a little. "Wanna see if you're any better by now?"

Sam rolled his eyes for the umpteenth time. "I'm not fighting you, Dean,"

"Yeahhh, you're just chicken 'cause you know I'd _still_ kick your little ass-" and Dean received raised eyebrows- "okay, maybe you're not so _little _anymore, but I'd still kick your ass."

Sam laughed and shook his head when Dean snapped his fingers.

"I got it," he said as he ran into the other room. Sam heard shuffling and clinking, and a small "Aha!" before Dean returned.

"I do remember one childhood tradition." And he slapped a handful of paper and two mechanical pencils onto the table before looking up at Sam triumphantly. Sam looked confused.

"…Oragami?"Dean's eyebrows creased. "What? No, you fruit," he said in a gruff voice. "Don't you remember all those stupid little comics we'd make when we were bored?"

At these words, Sam's whole demeanor changed. "Oh wow… yeah! I'd um… I'd draw superheroes and you'd draw all the monsters." Dean was nodding his head excitedly. Sam paused.

"What, you wanna do that now?"

"I dunno man, sure! Let's draw, or is that too lame?" he challenged. Sam shrugged, his hands in the air, signifying he had no better ideas.

"Although, I don't remember Jack being in the equation when we were kids," Sam quipped. Dean looked down at the bottle he was still clutching. He smirked.

"Jack makes everything more fun. Think of it as… artistic inspiration, Sammy."

Sam laughed and figured, _What the hell._ So he and Dean took alternating sips of the bottle, not even bothering to get shot glasses because they both knew they'd end up getting pretty far with it anyway. As they sketched away, they found their abilities had stagnated a bit over the years, and the booze certainly wasn't helping. About an hour later, they had each other laughing so hard with both the results and memories, they could hardly manage to hold their pencils.

"What the hell is that, Sam, a duck?"

"Screw you, it's a banshee!"

"Well you didn't give her any tits! Duck-banshee sucks." he said, tossing Sam's paper away. Sam mocked offense and shock, all of his actions becoming less careful and more animated the more he drank. "Your artistic skills are _so_ much better, you're right. Draw me something great then, go ahead," Sam said, setting his pencil down to signify he was calling it in.

"Fine," Dean sing-songed, mocking Sam. He pulled a quite concentrated and poised face as he labored over the paper, though his head was swaying a little, thanks to the Jack. When he finished, he whipped the paper in front of Sam, handing it to him.

"There ya go."

"…What the hell is this."

"It's you!" Dean prompted, as though this were obvious.

"…Doesn't look anything like me."

"What are you talking about?" Dean barely held in his giggle.

"Why do I have… antlers?" Sam asked monotonously.

"Well, Crowley did have a point. You _do_ kind of look like a moose, Sammy."

"…Did you give me… _Did you give me BOOBS?"_

"Yep!" Dean laughed, "Moose-bitch!"

Sam glared at him. "You're such a _jerk_, Dean." But Dean was too busy laughing.

"And you're a Moose-bitch! Hey Sammy, I think I have a new nickname for you!" Sam got up to leave the room, but Dean kept calling after him, "Moooose-bitch!"


End file.
